Erik's Christmas Misadventure
by Der Drache Dame
Summary: Title says it all! A little humorous parody of A Christmas Carol. Enjoy!


Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom/it's characters, yadda yadda… Don't own Lenore, Ember, and all those other peoples that go with The Whispered Word, Lenore… Definitely don't own Tammy. She owns herself. Chyep. I think I own me, but I'm not too sure of _that_ one, either. I kind of half-own Irene. So HA!

A/N: This story here's a Chrissymas present for the Tammy! I do so hope she likes it! …Well, I hope _everyone_ likes it, but my main goal here is Tammy. –Hugglesqueezes the life of her.- A fanfiction of a fanfiction! Whee!

Tammy: I hope I got your character right. –Gnaws her lip off worrying.-

* * *

Erik sighed, at length, and tapped out a few notes on the piano. It went in the way of a Christmas carol. "Christmas," he muttered. "What an utterly desolate holiday." Of course, he couldn't really complain; being below-ground like he was, he didn't have to listen to the caterwauling of the carolers and the insistent ding-a-ling-dong of the bells people rang while dressed up as Santa. He shuddered at the idea.

Lenore was in her own room, as usual, and although it was Christmas Eve, he had no particular care for letting her aboveground for the holiday that came up tomorrow. It wasn't that he was afraid of her running away; she knew she couldn't, and he knew she knew. It was more of the fact that he didn't feel like sharing her, even for a meager 'merry Christmas' from her friends.

Christine would've called him selfish, more likely than not. Given the chance, Lenore probably would too.

He got up and went to her room, knocked on the door thrice, and entered. She looked up from her book with a sullen expression. It appeared, he thought, that the bad mood was contagious.

"What is it?" she asked tartly. He noticed, with indifferent disinterest, that she was reading Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol.

"I was simply going to tell you dinner will be ready shortly," he informed.

"Nice to know," she said sarcastically.

He shook his head a little and shut the door again, going to the kitchen to begin dinner. Nothing extravagant tonight; he planned on something simple tonight, then a small feast tomorrow afternoon. As he prepared the Caesar salads, he thought over what he would say to her inevitable question: _Am I allowed to go up tomorrow?_

"Of course not," he said to the voice in his head. "You are to stay with me."

_But I want to go see my sister and my friends! There's only one of these types of holidays per year, ya know._

"Yes, I know that," he replied, heating a skillet for the diced chunks of meat. "But until my salary is paid…"

_Bullocks to your salary_.

"You may feel that way, ma cherié, but the issue stands."

_You're so unfair, Erik! _He could hear her whiny tone quite clearly, and sighed again.

* * *

He watched her sit down at the table and pick up her fork. He noticed she was pointedly not looking at him, and for upwards of five minutes, they sat in silence.

"Am I allowed to go up tomorrow?" she asked, without looking up. He winced.

"Of course not. You're to stay with me."

"But I want to see my family and my _friends_." He was not at all surprised at the accuracy of his guesses from earlier. "There's only one of these types of holidays per year, ya know."

"Yes, I know that," he replied, biting his lip. "But until my salary is paid…"

"_Bullocks_ to your salary!" she retorted, finally looking up at him.

"You might feel that way, ma cherié, but the issue stands," he said firmly.

"You're so _unfair_, Erik!" she groaned. "If you had family, _you'd_ want to go see them, now _wouldn't_ you?"

"No, actually," he said, rather mildly (for Erik). "I detest that kind of attention."

Lenore scowled at her plate, silent again.

Erik had the vague feeling that this particular Christmas wouldn't be quite as cheery as the others.

* * *

With Lenore tucked off in her bed for the night, Erik finally was alone again. He sat down by the lake and stared off at nothing for a while, deep in meditative thought. When his eyelids grew heavy, he hardly noticed; after about ten minutes they finally shut, and he drifted off, sitting up.

For how long he was asleep, he couldn't say; but he was awoken by a clanking, rattling sound. Some odd, half-awake part of his brain immediately thought of Jacob Marley, with his chains that he forged; but the man who appeared before him was none other than Hiroshi. Jack the Ripper, as he was more commonly known.

He was, indeed, covered in chains. Erik blinked up at him from his position on the ground. He was at a complete loss for words.

"Hullo, old chap!" Hiroshi said, cheerfully enough.

"Hello," Erik replied cautiously.

Hiroshi looked down at the chains and grinned apologetically. "Many apologies," he said, gesturing (which only made the iron links rattle more insistently), "but _someone_ draped these chains all over me, so I couldn't sneak up on them. Damn things." Erik noticed they were cuffed to his wrists and ankles, so he couldn't remove them.

"What are you doing here?"

Hiroshi blinked and appeared to consider this. "Oh, yes!" he said, brightening. "Satan told me I was supposed to tell you that you're doing a jolly good job down here and everything, and," he added, chuckling a little, "you're going to be visited by a couple of spirits. Yep."

Erik stared at him blankly. "What?"

Jack the Ripper shrugged amiably. "It's what I was told. Don't know nothing more, nope." He turned to go.

"Wait!" Erik said, scrambling to his feet. "When do they come?"

"I think they come when you make them," Hiroshi replied, more or less keeping a straight face.

"Be _serious_!" the Phantom snarled, grabbing the man by the front of his shirt.

"Okay! Okay!" he yelped. "They each come separately, I believe, and the first one comes at midnight."

"Which is…?"

"In about fifteen minutes."

"Oh." That was it. Just _Oh_. Hiroshi seemed rather put-out and annoyed by that, but he left just the same.

Erik paced, thinking over the situation. Spirits… it sounded familiar. But where?

Before he had time to answer himself, there was a crackling noise, a flash, and a loud voice.

"_Erik Dessler?_" the voice boomed.

"Quiet! You'll wake Lenore!" he hissed.

"Eh?" The voice seemed quite small now. No more than an adolescent's pitch. "Oh! Crud!" it squeaked. "I set the curtain on fire!"

There was a string of curses muttered in an undertone, some furious smackings and pattings, and then a figure dressed in a scarlet with gold trim robe appeared. It pulled down the hood, revealing a young girl's face. Long, dark brown hair framed the small features. She had grayish blue eyes, which hid behind bright blue wire-frame glasses, with small, librarian-like lenses, and the glasses rested on her smallish nose. One corner of her mouth was turned up in a little, embarrassed smirk. She didn't appear to be older than fifteen, sixteen maybe. She was pretty tall.

"Yeah… sorry about that. It usually works, but I guess I poofed in too close to the curtain there."

He said nothing, only stared.

She blinked, then gave him an uneasy smile. One eyebrow raised. "What? See anything green?"

"Uh... No…"

"Oh, good," she said merrily.

"Who _are_ you? You seem familiar."

"Aye, I might," she acknowledged, grinning. "Although you don't know me personally, I played a part in your past."

"Which past?" he asked, quickly. If she had designed his epic with Christine, he had a good idea that he'd try to strangle her, spirit or not.

She evidently saw his murderous look, because she took a few hurried steps backwards. "It may mean nothing to you, but my name is Dee. I'm the Ghost of Christmas Past." She bowed, her hood flopping comically against the back of her head. She was obviously avoiding his last question.

"What are you here for?" Already he was tiring of this _girl_ and her carefree manner of speaking.

"I'm here to show you some things," she answered, rather vaguely.

"What kind of things?"

"If you'd be so kind as to, erm… Touch my arm… We'll be off." She extended her wrist in a jerky fashion, showing she wasn't too thrilled to put herself in his reach. She knew what was in his future, and that he was quite a powerful immortal. Possibly capable of killing her, and that would be a shame; she'd never get to share Ellen's story with everyone else. He reached out and gripped her wrist. She flinched a little, then closed her eyes and appeared to concentrate.

There was a pop in both their ears', and a little zinging noise, and then they were alighting gently on a snow-packed sidewalk. "I'll never get used to that," she complained. "Being an authoress is so stupidly difficult."

He raised his good eyebrow at her comment but said nothing.

"Anyway," she said finally, realizing she was supposed to say something, "do you know where we are?"

"Paris," he said, dryly.

She made a hand gesture: _Go on_.

"Paris, France."

Her shoulders slumped and she gave him a glare. "Helpful tonight, aren't we?"

"Very," he agreed solemnly.

She made a chuffing noise and looked around. "Well. We're in Paris, France, in the year 2002. Ring a bell?"

"Not really."

"Why do you have to be so _difficult_?" she muttered furiously.

"Because I am," he replied, a ghost of a smile on his face.

"_Anyway_," she said firmly, ruffling her hair with her free hand, "this is the Christmas in which Ellen and Irene spent their holiday in your Opera House."

His stomach did a funny little jolt, for an unexplainable reason. "So?"

"_So…_" She paused, and thought. "_So…_"

"So," he reiterated.

"So," she repeated, pensively.

"So?" he prompted.

"Oh!" she said suddenly. He wrinkled his nose in confusion. She began leading him away from the spot they were at, talking again.

"Must hurry, must hurry, must catch up to Irene!"

"What for?" he asked, annoyed.

"You'll see." This bugged him even more than her inept way of thinking. "But needless to say," she continued, oblivious to his scornful glare, "if we miss her, or lose her, we'll have to start _all_ over again."

Irene was on the sidewalk ahead of them, walking with her head bowed. She had on a fluffy, fur-lined parka, and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and was stuffed under a winter hat.

Dee was not afraid, apparently, to go right up to her. In fact, the girl didn't even seem to know they were there. Erik reached out to touch her shoulder, and was shocked when his hand went right through.

"We're technically ghosts, remember," Dee said jovially.

"You're technically more than technically," he pointed out.

"Oh… right." Undaunted, she followed Irene in the store Ellen's best friend was going in.

Irene inspected racks of clothes (French fashion, of course) and Erik observed with some interest that she looked near tears.

"Why is she so upset?" he asked.

"I think you know that answer, Erik," Dee said sagely, her face showing an unexpected adultness.

Erik bit his lip. Of course he knew. What had he been doing around that time? Ruining Ellen's mind, of course. Ruining Irene's best friend's mind.

Irene came to the end of the rack and found herself in the makeup section. A single crystalline tear escaped her right eye and slid down her cheek. She wiped it away impatiently with the heel of her palm, and sniffled.

"You see what you did?" Dee's voice was quiet behind him as he watched, appalled, as Irene fought a losing battle with her emotions. "She can hardly look at a pair of designer pants or even something as trivial as nail-polish without being reminded of what's happening –" She paused, and coughed. "Excuse me. What happened, to Ellen."

He rounded on her, sick of Irene's grief-stricken face. He grabbed her up, lifting her easily up off the floor, as if she weighed no more than a feather. Her eyes widened and her mouth turned into an O of dismay.

"Stop showing me this!" he shouted, angrily. "I want to see no more!" He threw her to the floor, and when the contact was broken, the vision wavered and vanished like a reflection in a puddle when it's stepped on. She winced as her shoulder struck the concrete, and got up with a grimace. She had been right about his ability to damage her.

She brushed off her robe, trying to get her emotions under control before she started a shouting match that would ultimately lead to her untimely demise. "Look. I'm only doing what I'm supposed to do; you can't blame me for that." She let out a sigh, her childish manner dropped. "I've spent far too long here. I must go. Your next spirit arrives in half an hour." She stepped away from him and vanished in a flare of flame.

* * *

"Hey, Erik."

Startled, he jumped up from his place at the piano. He relaxed when he saw it was only the second spirit. "What, no fancy entrance, like the other?"

"No fancy entrance," the second ghost agreed. "Dee gets way too elaborate sometimes." This one had glasses, too, but they were a different type. They were black framed, with smallish boxy lenses. Her green eyes sparkled from behind the glass. Dirty blond hair framed them. She appeared at least four years older than the other, possibly more. She was wearing a dark green robe with silver trim.

"So who are you?" he asked warily.

"I'm Tammy, at your service," she said, bowing. She was also much more elegant, it seemed. "Ghost of Christmas Present."

He guessed that, like the last, this one had something to do with his life. Judging by her title, it seemed she was the purveyor of his present.

"I'm going to suppose you have something to show me, too?" Nothing would surprise him at this point.

"Indeed." She glanced around, as if to get her bearings, then extended her hand. He took it. As before, there was a pop, then a zing, and then they had arrived at their destination. "I'm here strictly on business, mind – no dilly-dallying for me."

He nodded. It would be a welcome change from the chatter of Dee. "Say, I don't suppose you – being the Ghost of Christmas Present, and all – know who put those chains on Hi – uh, Jack?"

"Oh!" she said, smiling. "That would have been me." At his look she shrugged, splaying her fingers out with her palms tilted toward him in a gesture of helplessness. "What? He keeps sneaking up on me, trying to tie me up and do unspeakables." She flushed slightly, and averted her eyes. "Now, where do we go…" She scrunched up her mouth in a thoughtful expression. "Oh, yes. Do you know where we are?"

"Paris, France, 2005?" he guessed dutifully. He felt more inclined to give Tammy a straight answer.

"Very good!" she praised, looking cheerful. "Dee told me you'd been especially difficult, but she must have been dramatizing – as usual." Tammy rolled her eyes.

He shuffled his feet, avoiding her gaze. "Must have been."

She nodded absently. "Alright… let's see… Ah!" She seemed to have come to a conclusion, for she began walking. He followed, careful to keep the contact. Everything looked as it last had on one of his outings; only with the addition of snow. He noticed they were walking towards the Opera House and considered asking why they had appeared so far away from it, but didn't.

She glanced back at him, as if reading his thoughts. "The system isn't perfect," she explained. "Sometimes we get teleported _miles_ away from our true destination. You can blame whoever it is that works the warps and just be thankful they've worked most of the bugs out…"

He was clueless as to what she was talking about, but he got the general gist of it. You couldn't always appear exactly where you wanted to. Problems in the mechanics.

They walked up the circular steps, and Tammy opened the door, holding it for him. He walked through, then waited for her to follow. When she did, she led him up the marble staircase, and then up one more floor, to the enormous dining room. One end of the table was occupied by Lenore's many friends and the family that was in Paris. There was a delightful feast, with pork, goose, and various vegetables, as well as a veritable selection of desserts.

"If only Lenore could be here," Ember sighed. Rosalyn patted her on the shoulder consolingly.

"Yeah," Lily spoke up. "We really miss her. It's stupid that she shouldn't get to come up."

Brad shrugged. "We can't really complain. At least we don't have to pay Erik's salary for the month…"

Everyone at the table shot him a dirty glare.

"What?" he asked feebly.

Tammy merely stood and held on to Erik's hand, watching. Erik followed her example.

"I propose a toast," Ember said, standing up. She held up the clear wine glass, which was filled with a deep red wine. "To Lenore – she bought the Opera House and brought us all closer together. If only she was here."

There was a muttered repeating of this, and then everyone drank.

"We really should thank Erik for this feast," commented Rosalyn, before they all readied to say a prayer.

"_What_?" Ember asked, stunned.

"Yeah," she continued. "If he had killed us like he said he was going to, we wouldn't be here, eating another Christmas dinner. We should rather be glad he changed his mind," she said sardonically.

There were murmurs of consent and disbelief.

"To Erik!" Brad said, standing up with his glass. "For not killing us!" He looked like he was trying to keep from laughing.

"To Erik!" they echoed, and drank again.

"Seen enough?" This was from Tammy, who was smiling in a sad way.

"Yes," he mumbled, shaken. "Yes, let us go." He released her hand and, once again, the vision dispersed.

"That is what to come later on this day," she said. Her voice had no discernable emotion, of any kind. "It can either be a forewarning, or simply a message. You choose."

"I… see."

She gave him a short nod of acknowledgement, and stepped back, giving a funny little salute kind of thing. Then she vanished. Her exit was like her entrance; one second she was there, the next she was not.

He realized a little too late that she hadn't told him when the next spirit would be coming. He frowned, and yawned a little. It was – judging by the time that had passed from midnight, when Dee had appeared – about three o'clock in the morning. Possibly three-thirty, but Tammy hadn't wasted as much time as Dee had, so the former was the more likely. Very late (or very early, depending on how you looked at it), in other words.

"I hope the next spirit comes soon," he grumbled. "I'm getting sleepy, and I have the feeling that if I fall asleep before he – or she – gets here, I'll sleep until tomorrow." He yawned again, and began pacing once more to keep his blood flowing and to more or less keep himself awake.

He didn't have _too _long to wait, it seemed; about ten minutes after Tammy had gone, his candles all flickered and went out. He could still see, but it wasn't easy. He couldn't make some things out. He could smell the acrid smoke of the candles, heavy in the air.

"Show yourself," he called, wondering why the spirit hadn't done so yet, and why it had wanted no light.

A soft, dark grey glow attracted his attention. It was a small sphere of luminescence, which floated and bounced around the spirit's upper body (but never getting close enough to illuminate the face hidden in the dark cowl, he realized). It extended a long, trailing sleeve wordlessly.

Frowning a little, he grasped the end of it, but this teleportation was different. Black crept across his vision until he could see nothing at all, not even the spirit's light, and he could hear nothing. Not even his own breathing. He tried to speak, but no words came out. So he waited.

His patience was, more or less, rewarded. He began to see again, slowly, and his hearing came back. It was a drab, overcast day, and everything seemed in odd hues of black, white, and grey. Thunder grumbled unhappily in the distance.

"What is there here for me?" he asked the spirit, truly curious. It still seemed to be Paris, or at least France; but he didn't recognize his surroundings, not at first. Then the answer came to him; they were at a graveyard. _The_ graveyard, the one where Christine was buried; where her father was buried; were Raoul de Chagny was buried, at the wench's side.

He found it hard to breathe suddenly. "Why are we here?" he insisted, growing all the more infuriated at the spirit's silence. Slowly, a lengthy sleeve came up and pointed in a direction. Erik followed it, rather dubiously, still clinging to the cloth of the spirit's black robe. The spirit trailed behind him, almost serenely, but Erik knew better.

They came upon a funeral service in progress. Erik felt an intense surge of fear and bewilderment when he saw Ember and the others gathered 'round. An old, shaky pastor held a Bible open as the coffin was lowered in.

"We are here today," he started, in a quivering, reedy voice, "to see on the safe passage to Heaven and to God our dear friend, companion, daughter, and sister, Lenore Parker." Erik really _did_ stop breathing then. His lungs just locked up and wouldn't let anything in. He wheezed a little, and the pastor's next words brought him out of his frozen state. "She was very loved and died much too young," he continued. "We will all miss her in our hearts. Let us now say a prayer."

As they started quoting the chosen verse from the Bible, Erik turned on the spirit.

"_I don't want to see this!_" he shouted, his voice sounding horribly cracked to his own ears. "_Who do you think you are to show me this falsity of a future?_"

The spirit cackled, the first sound it had made, a high, feminine, malicious laugh. A small, delicate, pale hand shot out of the sleeve and threw back the hood. Christine's face laughed at him, laughed at him, laughed at him.

"_Bitch!_" he screamed. That only made her laughter increase in volume.

"You know how she died, Erik?" teased Christine in that same nasty tone of voice. "She died of a heartbreak. You kept her from the rest of the world, like a fragile doll you were afraid would break. Well, guess who broke her? _You_ did, Erik!" And she shrieked her hideous laughter to the sky.

"You _lie_," he hissed, infuriated. How _dare _she suggest he'd kill Lenore? "You bitch, you _lie!_"

"But you _know_ me, Erik!" she pouted, giving him huge watery eyes. "I'd never lie to you!" She darted away from his twitching, convulsing fingers, breaking the contact and hurtling them back into his lair. She giggled, eyes glittering, and jerked a thumb at the door to Lenore's room. "There is a way to change the future… If you _are_ so inclined to save your precious pet's life."

"How?" he snarled, struggling with the urge to pounce on her and throttle her scrawny neck.

"You'll figure it out," she replied mysteriously, side-stepping as he lunged at her. "Bye-bye, now!" She sunk into the wall as if she was made of it.

Erik cried out in rage and beat his fists against the wall she'd exited by. "_Bitch!_"

He jerked, and sat up in the bed, sweat pouring down his face. He blinked in bewilderment and looked around, wondering how he had got there. Lenore watched him with a faint smile. "Bad dreams?"

He thought about it for a moment. "Bad dreams," he agreed.

She smiled a little wider. "You fell asleep at your piano. I opted to move you before you got permanent key-marks on your forehead…"

He smiled himself. "Thank you." She nodded. "What time is it?"

"About seven."

"Alright." He got out, stretched, and gave her a solemn stare. "Well? Are you getting out of bed, or not?"

"Why should I?" she asked, looking irritated.

"We're going upstairs, aren't we?"

The look of dumbstruck astonishment on her face actually made him laugh.

"Y – You changed your mind?"

He looked up at the ceiling. "I could change my mind again, you know, if you don't get ready in the next… oh… five seconds…"

She was up and dressed in a flash, a look of excitedness plain on her face. "Ohhh, thank you, Erik!" She hugged him impulsively, grinning, and, rather startled, he returned the gesture.

"Merry Christmas, ma chouchoute," he said fondly.

"Merry Christmas," she agreed.

* * *

"Ember!" Lenore shouted, running to her sister.

"Lenore!" Ember shouted back, just as loudly, picking her younger sibling up and twirling her around. "So the ol' grouch decided to let you come up, eh?" she quipped, smirking a little in 'the ol' grouch's direction.

"Yup!" She looked back at Erik. "Do you have something to say to Ember, Erik?" she asked sweetly.

"No, not particularly," was the response. Erik hated it when she did this.

"Oh, come on," she pouted.

He sighed, loudly and to the point. "Merry Christmas, Ember," he muttered, only just audibly.

"Merry Christmas," Ember replied cheerfully. "C'mon. Everybody else should have the table ready to eat." She glanced over at the immortal. "You going to eat with us, or just stand there like a mannequin?"

He pressed his lips together in a thin line and said nothing, but followed the two into the dining room.

"A toast!" Ember announced. "To Lenore and Erik – the, uh…" She paused and considered, decided against what she was going to say (not particularly liking the poisonous looks from Erik's direction), and said instead: "two of the best people on Earth."

Lenore giggled, and sipped her wine. Erik tried to look indifferent about the compliment.

After finishing the meal, everyone gathered around the giant tree set up at one end of the hall and opted for a few carols. Most felt more than a little jealousy at Erik's superior singing capabilities, and the fearless way Lenore belted it, but they all joined in quite happily enough.

Unnoticed, out of sight and mind (except for maybe Erik's), Dee and Tammy stood nearby, arm in arm, singing too, smiling quite largely. They had done quite a good job of changing Erik's character – at least for the holidays – although neither of them wanted to admit that Christine had more than likely had the most pronounced effect.

All was good in the world; all was right.

"_We wish you a Merry Christmas,_

_We wish you a Merry Christmas,_

_We wish you a Merry Christmas,_

_And a happy New Year!"_

* * *

"Erik hates me!" Dee wailed.

"And who's fault is _that_?" Tammy asked, irritated.

Dee sniffled. "Erik's."

Tammy rolled her eyes.

"Why do I have to be put through these silly trials?" Erik demanded.

"Because we _loooove_ you," Dee and Tammy responded in unison.

"We would really like you to review, peoples!" Tammy added, turning to the peoples, and away from Erik's hateful glares.

"Yesh!" Dee agreed eagerly. "Reviews make the world go 'round, world go 'round, world go 'round…"

"There she goes again," Erik muttered.


End file.
